Memoirs of a Saint

To reality, and beyond

2010-03-24T20:41:00.000+04:30

6 weeks ago, I had a trip to an island far far away - probably to a time long lost in the grinding noises of "the new world"; true, Physics would say hell no. But Physics has been wrong before. It was the trip that gave me perception for twenty-something hours to see reality as it really is; hell, it was the trip to begin with that pushed me to rethink what 'real' means. What it's supposed to represent.

It was during those few moments that I had the mental ability to clearly see; to actually 'see' what's underneath that thick layer of lies and deceit we've all been tutored to cherish and despise. I could sense who the people surrounding me really were. I saw through their every move. I heard echoes. Obviously those peculiar single-notes weren't constrained to the borders of that island; Physics was right about air pressure, at least.

I learned a lot from those very few days. Now that I think about it, I guess I learned more there than I have for as long as I can remember. One thing learned in particular, is that... Stuff happens. Epic Shit happens. Miracles happen. Though it did take me about 6 weeks to figure out they're as unpredictable as weather. Another amazing something was how simple it was to see reality as is, to allow yourself to comprehend.

It didn't take too long for the intoxicating fog to kick in; the shadows are sharp in these parts. But now I have something to work with. Something to hold onto. At least that little section of this rollercoaster ride wasn't another dream.

I can't write anymore right now. I'm weak in front of a computer screen.

I'm just glad I had the time of my life.
BJ was right. It isn't a test, it's a lesson.

Clouds, in minor

2010-02-03T20:38:00.000+03:30

I usually try not to quote famous music or people in blog, but due to the effect of a series of peculiar events that have changed the way I look at cirrus clouds, verses from Pink Floyd can be read in the lines that follow.
---
"Cirrus Minor"
In a churchyard by a river,
Lazing in the haze of midday,
Laughing in the grasses and the graze.
Yellow bird, you are not lone
in singing and in flying on,
in laughing and in leaving.
Willow weeping in the water,
waving to the river daughters,
swaying in the ripples and the reeds.
On a trip to Cirrus Minor,
saw a crater in the sun
A thousand miles of moonlight later.
---
I'm working on another short story. It's not about politics.

#210

2009-12-07T18:05:00.000+03:30

"I believe that in order to walk through grief, fear, loneliness, despair, confusion and anger without recourse to drugs, alcohol, overeating, oversexing, or the endless mind-numbing distractions provided by Western culture, one must become a spiritual warrior. I further believe that the pay-off for enduring suffering, for soberly embracing the inevitable bouts of emotional pain that life brings, is wisdom and serenity in the face of calamity. But make no mistake here, the path of the warrior is treacherous and cannot be walked alone. To survive, he must have brothers and sisters-in-arms to carry him when he buckles. When we lived and died in small tribes, this principle of mutually supporting one another through the trials of life was deeply woven into the fabric of the group mind. With the advent of towns and cities we were forced to live with the daily dilemma of being desperately alone and yet desperately needing one another. Which is why we are, by design, always seeking new tribes. With that in mind, I humbly offer a simple guideline to evaluate the efficacy of any tribe you might encounter on your path to becoming a spiritual warrior: if they ask for your money or access to your crotch, run away. If they ask for your money, smile unceasingly, never blink, and guarantee to make you a demi-god, running away will not suffice. Change your mailing address and briefly reconsider drugs, alcohol, food, sex, and TV."

Chuck Lorre Productions

A great day for music UPDATE (Day 2? Scene 2? Take 2?)

2009-10-19T19:17:00.000+03:30

(Read post before first)

I WAS WRONG! In that last post I played, I was wrong about the trees not dancing and all. MOST trees never dance. SOME DO. There's this certain tree I discovered in the campus grounds today that dances cheerfully to the whistle of the afternoon breeze. Not a tango. And it dances... wow. Anyway, it's a weird looking plant with huge leaves (Not that huge, Jonny) shaped like spades (Or hearts, but since the leaves have stems, spades win. Hearts fail; sorry queen). Long thin stem. No fruit (as far as I've seen). Is usually found with a mandolin nearby. No, not on the ground (But the mandolin's case is).

A great day for music

2009-10-18T22:20:00.000+03:30

So I'm passing through the street with the traffic's slow yet alarming hum, and in a moment's epiphany I realize that the gray "matchbox" buildings, houses, pillars of faith I'm staring at change into a bright color (differs based on building's personality) and dance to the sound of music (tango, sometimes). I realize that in fact, everything will dance when a rhythm is around, any rhythm. But the trees don't - the light dances on the leaves, but the trees stay still. I guess they're just not into rock. But sure enough, give them an acoustic instrument and they will blow you, earrings, and amplifiers away. Amplifiers beware. Fender beware. But of course, trees change color without the need for music, they work on their own accord. Always have been wondering whether or not trees are good singers. This guy named Eddie Vedder once said they were.
And the dark rolls in, it always, always rolls in. Always in first gear - never ever goes into second, or third, or fourth, or fifth. Makes you wonder whether it's ever going to shift into automatic. I doubt it ever will.
It's hard to stand against the fluffy cold night air. But a nice warm tune is always welcome. Funny how it is, walking through a dark boulevard (Not the boulevard of broken dreams) with a bad case of flu and a black t-shirt to stand against this peculiar kind of cold. Judging by the fact that dancing makes you warm, although it is against proper etiquette to dance in the streets here, and that everybody is an accident waiting to happen, it was fun walking in that boulevard with an old song playing and the silent night to talk to.

Hurricanes and... Something

2009-09-22T21:34:00.000+03:30

It's been months since I last wrote on here, sure, but my life needs somebody to live it through. Life is speeding up - again. Term 3 started yesterday. Wierd feeling you get when you see the new blood in the university. Like time is frozen in place and still passing by. I've written another short story, though I won't post it until the time is right. I'm starting on two more tomorrow. or maybe the day after. Or maybe next week, next month, next year. Hopefully though I'll start trying to update the blog more often. I'm doing my best trying to manage everything that happens to and around me. I think I need pills, or hands. A couple of hands would be nice. Very nice indeed. Come what may.

"Blame it on apartheid"

In a while

2009-02-18T11:01:00.001+03:30

Hello. It's been a long while since I last wrote in this blog, my blog. For reasons unknown, I haven't been able to open the Blogger website for months now, but I guess the main reason I haven't been so active lately is because I haven't written anything in... A while. But I'm starting to again, gonna finish a short story I started a long time ago in a month, probably gonna post it in two months or so. I'm a student at SH. Uni. of Tech., so I've been busy - enough. Time is slowing down again. I need caffeine.

So starts Term 2.

Moe.

The Pot

2008-03-31T12:47:00.000+04:30

Now will you weep or chase the chosen indigo
got lemon juice up in your eye,

When you pissed all over my black kettle
You must have been high, high

Message from our Sponsor...

2007-10-31T20:09:00.000+03:30

Hi all. I might write a bit less in the next year, but you'd have to get along with it, because I have no other choice. I'll start writing more when The Knot's untied... Till then, I'm encouraging you to read and comment on the short stories I've written a while back, and I'll be posting other stuff I find that are worth mentioning...

All hail, mein goddess of universal chaos...

Saint Jimmy.

Discordist Manifesto

2007-10-31T20:01:00.000+03:30

If you read this then this warning is for you. Every word you read of this useless fine print is another second of your life. Don't you have other things to do? Is your life so empty that you honestly can't think of a better way to spend these moments? Or are you so impressed with authority that you give respect and credence to all who claim it? Do you read everything you're supposed to read? Do you think everything you're supposed to think? But you're told what you should want? Get out of your apartment. Meet a member of the opposite sex. Stop the excessive shopping and masturbation. Quit your job. Start a fight. Prove you're alive. If you don't claim your humanity you will become a statistic. You have been warned......

-Tyler

Spread the word - pass this on...

Lucid Memories

2007-09-18T11:27:00.000+03:30

I know this one's really long, but it took me a long time to write/type this, so, spare 30 minutes of your fucked up time and read this.

---------------------

The three-lane highway was deserted except for an 18-wheeler cruising 2 miles ahead. Mikael glanced at his watch. Its blue pulse read 12:05PM. The car thermometer read 92'F. He pushed the air conditioner on his Honda rental up to max, just as he spotted another green sign looming ahead. As it grew bigger, he read out loud: " City of the Damned 20". He smiled; perfect timing - again.

He was finally here, or almost there. Cruising to the girl he had been sending emails to on her birthday. The courtesy he had got was ignorance. Mikael's plan was to leave one last Happy Birthday post card on her doorstep with his phone number - his
last hope of getting back the girl he had lost to dad's better job elsewhere, the best friend he had ever known - someone he never thought he had feelings for.

Buildings started growing in front of him on the horizon, which used to be surrounded by grass fields for the last hour. A small city, with the usual needs for civilization. He'd have to find descent - or half-descent - food, and later he'll go drop the HB card, at around 2, 2:30; after that he'll try to scavenge someone who still remembers the Mikael that moved back to Albania 7 years ago. Then he'd drive home hoping what he had done wasn't going to get his ass sued.

With a great deal of difficulties, he had managed to get a scholarship into University X. He knew being alone, and 10000 miles away from his family - that had a hobby of poking into and messing up his life - was going to make those certain difficulties worthwhile.

He found a mediocre Italian restaurant after around 30 minutes and 19 different drive-by's. Double checking the address he had obtained 2 years ago, he parked under a giant oak tree about 200 feet from her family's white picket fence. Clock read 2:15. Their two story house looked a lot like the other houses in that part of Suburbia. He checked his watch again, then plugged in his headphones and waited. He was half dozing when he suddenly noticed a black car
parked in front of their house. Watch said 2:31PM. He peeled off the headphones and tried to zoom in on what was going on. A funeral, it appeared, as he followed the black caravan of 6 to a cemetery. He stopped short of the cemetery's iron gates.

Taking out his binoculars again, he started counting out her family as they left a car - he was guessing a dead parent or grand-parent. She had a brother and sister, too. The first to get off was him, the the "momma", next her sis. He realized he was holding his breath - it simply wouldn't come out - this was after all, the first time he'll be seeing her after 7 years. And then a figure came out the back of the funeral transport. Moments after the cars left, the figure turned around, giving a full view of his thin short complexion. That, was daddy.

Mikael stared at the place dad has stood 3 seconds ago, unblinking, as panic started flooding him. The 25 or so party of black swooshed in and out of view as he searched frantically for her face. She wasn't there. A coffin lay under an expensive bundle of flowers 100 feet away from where momma was talking to a relative. No way, Mikael thought, she's not dead! She was only 17!

He waited until everybody had left. Meanwhile he brainstormed explanations for her absence. 997 was thought up when the car's clock ticked 8:30 and the last car slipped through the iron gates. Time had sped up while he was thinking, and when he came to his senses again, it seemed like it had only been 20 minutes since they had arrived. He waited another 30 minutes - not sure if he really wanted to know whose the grave was. Then, uncertainty still crawling in him, Mikael drove the car near the new grave, and got out.

The July night air tasted refreshing, but he was too focused on getting within reading distance of the grave to evaluate the air temperature. His feet pushed him forward, stopping right on top of the tombstone. Sure enough, she was dead. RIPed on July 17.

Michael stood there, staring at her name. Then, when his feet finally gave way, he fell down, lying on the chilly grass, staring at the stars. A long while later he got up, took the black rose, and the birthday card from his car, and put them both on her grave. Then he got back in the same position, and stared absentmindedly at the stars. Mikael didn't know how long he was there; he didn't even notice a figure approach and lie beside him. It was some time later when that same figure half whispered: "I knew you'd come". At normal circumstances, he wouldn't have answered. But since this voice sounded all too familiar, it took half a second for his mind to react - excessively.

He jolted to his feet, staring at her, and tripped backwards over a lump of overgrown grass. Molly; a friend of his forgotten childhood, and a former partner in crime with the body decaying not too far away.

She rolled closer as he asked tonelessly, still staring at her half illuminated figure: "What... What are you doing here?"

"Same thing you're doing - staring at the starlight. You've grown, Mikael" She said, amusedly.
"And you've - changed, a lot. You look blacker..." he said, taking in the jet black hair - shining in the moonlight - that used to be blond, and the unexpected black T-shirt, replacing the bright-colored tank top he had come to expect. Not getting an answer to this, only a stare back, he added: "Closed casket, right? Shot herself out?" with a look at the tombstone.

"Yeah, closed. Car crash. In case you care, she had internal bleeding, brain damage, 90% burns, and they found what was left of her car in the river she fell in... She died of a blow to her head." She made a quote sing with her fingers over "died".

"You really loved her, didn't you? Figures..." Molly added, smiling. "Yeah... yeah I guess I did" Mikael said, getting up. He walked back to the car, saying: "Don't follow me. If I'm still alive tomorrow, you'll be the first to know". Pausing for a moment, he got into his car and sped away before she could get up - he needed the excess speed; the sedane parked behind him in the cemetery had looked a good 450hp.

Mikael was lying on the bed of room 37, at the nearest Holiday Inn. His body had managed to bring him here safely, but his mind was still in shatters. Flashbacks of the funeral, their childhood pranks, Molly, and the life he knew was too good to be true flooded him. He had lost track of time long ago, when the tombstone had loomed into view. He wasn't living without her; his mind wouldn't support it. Mikael got up, hovered to the bathroom sink, and picked up the razor blade that was almost begging to be used. He sat down on the shower floor, and closed the glass door behind him. Taking a good look at the steel blade, he pushed the razor blade onto the blue veins pulsing with life on his wrist. Mikael knew it wouldn't hurt; "It was almost like falling asleep, really really fast..." those were the words of a suicidal guy's blog he had bumped into 3 years ago. "Good night and good luck, then" Mikael said out loud, and put extra pressure on the razor blade. Just as he was about to slit the delicate veins on his wrists, he suddenly heard a rustling outside the bathroom window.

Taking little notice, he went back to his self-righteous suicide. Again, just as he was about to cut his current lifeline, the doorbell rang; Mikael was going to ignore it, but the memory of the rustling made him sprint out of the bathroom and jerk the front door open.

Nothing; except for a piece of paper lying on the ground, reading: "Don't kill yourself" He picked up the A4, and turned it over. The back read: "You'll regret it". Odd-looking handwriting, he thought, and closed the door. Taking the advice scribbled obviously in a hurry on the paper, he lied down on the bed, and put the paper sheet on the bedside table. Again, Mikael started staring aimlessly at the ceiling.

It was some time later that his doorbell rang for a second time. Mikael lowered his head and stared at the door, waiting for another ring; instead, he got a parade of rings that made him jolt upright and yell: "I'm coming, asshole!"

"Guess who, butthead?" said Molly's muffled voice from behind the door. He peered through the eyehole. Molly was staring right back at him.

"I knew you'd be here; it was actually pretty predictable. Pack, we're leaving... and you're coming. I'm waiting in the car" she said, strolling out of sight. Mikael knew he had no other choice - Molly was definitely capable of calling the motel owner.

He took a look at his watch, and threw the blade lying on the bathroom's ceramic tiles into the 3:00 O'clock blackness. Taking a look back to make sure nothing was left behind, Mikael stepped out of the room, and slammed the door shut behind him.

The night breeze licked him face as he walked over to the formidable looking sedane he recognized from the cemetery. Mikael slipped into the passenger's seat as Molly started the car. They drove out of the parking lot in silence. Molly broke it.

"7 years, Mike. You could've at least said goodbye" she said. "I've made mistakes; I'm only human" Mikael replied "Where're we heading?". "Do you like surprises?" She said, looking at him as they passed yet another red light.

"You know, she was really mad at you for leaving like that" said Molly after a few moments of silence. Mikael replied: "I could tell. Believe me, though there was a lot I could do, it still wasn't intentional". More silence. Then Molly's cell phone rang a mix of notes that sounded like something issuing from an organ or an electronic keyboard. All it managed to bring up in Mikael's ming was a memory of a report they did in 12th grade on Sadism, torture, and mass murder. Looking at her phone, then back at Mikael, she said "cuteness" and answered the phone; "Hey, guess who's sitting beside me right now... yeah... no I'm not gonna... ok, FINE!... bye." She flipped her phone off.

Molly drove the car into an empty 7/11 parking lot, and parked haphazardly in three parking spaces. "I'm getting some coffee. Want anything? Cappo, right? Like always... stay in the car!" She said, heading for the front door, as Mikael got out to follow. He leaned on the car, wondering why the fuck he would need caffeine on a night like this; the air smelled great. He had come to his senses again.

He felt something moving behind him, but decided to stare back at the store guy instead. All of a sudden, that something halfwhispered: "Boo" and made a surprised Mikael turn around. Cathy was standing there 5 feet away in a dirty T-shirt. "You're... dead" Mikael said, pulling air back into his lungs. "No I'm not." She said, amusedly, "How'd you like my funeral? I think my parents overdid the flowers."

She looked exactly like the Cathy Mikael remembered from childhood. Not a tone of change in her brown hair and denim jeans, and her eyes still shone bright brown. "So what was the funeral for? You look lively enough for me" Mikael asked. "Nothing too special. I just wanted away from my family. Molly helped me plan my death - she did the body, the car - oh yeah, I did the paper you found on your motel door. It's hard dying, just thought you might want a better casket; Besides, you'll be helping me get my life back - we planned it that way" said Cathy, staring at Molly, who was searching herself for change a bit too aggressively.

"So, you and Molly planned to kill you, so that your family would leave you alone?". Mikael started again after a short pause and no answer: "Then why the fuck did you ignore me when I sent you birthday e-cards?".

"My brother and sister did that; they were even trying to get a picture of me butt-naked to put online. It was when I found out all this time you've been searching for me - and they'd blocked you out - that I planned all this with Molly. The closed casket was Molly's idea. Gotta love her".

"OK, you hate your family, you are now an entirely different person, no relation to mom or dad, I'm expecting a new ID? [nods from Cathy] Your family visits your grave every year - maybe even every month - from now on, and you're expecting me to run off with you?" Mikael said, sarcastically. "That's what I've been hoping to happen" Cathy said, smiling.

"It's just that.. it all seems a bit too... tragic to be true" Mikael said.
"I guess some people are just born with tragedy in their blood" Cathy whispered, and kissed him. A voice disturbed them a while later.

"Well, you guys are getting along pretty well" said Molly, standing a few feet away, 2 coffee cups propped under her arm while she was searching her left pocket for keys. "Cathy, they didn't have latte, so I got y- WHAT THE FUCK, MIKE! GET THE FUCK OFF ME!"

Mikael was hugging Molly so hard she was evidently choking, and a 12-ounce Turkish, and Cappuccino, lay sprawled with their cups on the asphalt now shining in the parking lot lights. Finally letting go, Mikael and Molly stared at the damage. Molly shot a menacing look at Mike, and had opened her mouth in a strong screaming position, but before she could say anything, he had ran off to get another couple 12-ounces. By the time he was back with the coffee, Molly was changing CD tracks and Cathy was sitting in the back of Molly's car, staring at an approaching cup. He got in behind Molly and handed the Turkish to Cathy. Molly drove the car into the street, looked at Mikael through the rear-view mirror, and said: "Seriously Mike, I was suffocating." Mikael looked over at Cathy. Her eyes were wandering over the passing wilderness. He knew she had a tendency to act strangely in peculiar situations. Remembering the birthday card lying on her grave, He said: "I know it's a little too late to say this, but happy Birthday, Cath." Bang

He woke up. He looked around, not wanting to believe he was still here. Back in his room in their family home in Albania. His clock read 3:00 AM. He was 16 again.

Another dream, he thought, wanting to cry yet again. He knew, this one was much more realistic than the rest. He recalled the quickly fading memories of his times well spent with Cathy in the real world, when he - they - were younger. She was gone now; probably waiting for his brother and dad to leave for work, on the other side of Mother Earth. Though his memories of her saying the words were thoroughly forgotten, he still remembered her voice clear as day when she had said: "Every living creature on Earth dies alone"....

Mikael closed his eyes. Lucid Memories.

2007-09-06T19:03:00.000+03:30

Mad World - Gary Jules and Michael Andrews

-------------------

All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places
Worn out faces
Bright and early for the daily races
Going no where
Going no where
Their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression
No expression
Hide my head I wanna drown my sorrow
No tomorrow
No tomorrow
And I find I kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles its a very very
Mad world
Mad world
Children waiting for the day they feel good
Happy birthday
Happy birthday
And I feel the way that every child should
Sit and listen
Sit and listen
Went to school and I was very nervous
No one knew me
No one new me
Hello teacher tell me what’s my lesson
Look right through me
Look right through me
And I find I kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles its a very very
Mad world
Mad world
Enlarging your world
Mad world

"Life is one long insane trip. Some people just have better directions."

SJ

Diaries: Part I

2007-07-12T12:22:00.000+03:30

The library had seven floors. A lounge and a reading area in the first; children's books in the second, Adult media in third. Fourth and fifth floors were a computer department and audio/video material, ranging from opera notes to a VHS on how to prepare a goose in under an hour. The sixth was full of old books, dictionaries, encyclopedias, and such; While the seventh floor contained books that were either outdated, or of no use in the evergrowing Information Age - Almost no-one ever went there anymore, as the librarians would say. A cylinder shaped building, with a big open area in the middle of all the floors, allowing a panorama of the lounge from every floor.

The boy loved to read; you would find him at the library whenever his parents had a grown-up to watch over him in there. We don't know how old he was, or of what race, all we will ever know is what happened, what happened on that Faithful Saturday.

He was on the third floor going through what looked like a space book, when he- for no apparent reason - had the urge to explore the 7th floor. His mom, who was his company today, wouldn't let him go any higher than floor 5. He needed a plan; took him half a second to find a fail-proof course of action. But nothing's fail-proof, now is it?

He told his mom he was going to the computer lab, which his mom resented, but allowed him anyways, surprisingly not starting an interrogation as to what he was gonna do up there; though, more out of habit than motherlyness, she said she'd check up on him in half an hour. The magazine she had in her hand was probably interesting enough to keep her from looking up the whole time. He was glad about that; that was probably the reason she wasn't inquiring further.

He would go up there, sign up for 30 minutes on an unused computer, nagivate to some page, then leave for floor 7. If his mom came to check on him - and find him missing - he could bypass her rage simply with a lie about going to the restroom, and/or spotting a good cd or something on the way back.

He did just that; navigated up to floor 5 via elevator, signed up for 30 minutes on comp. #13, turned it on, surfed to a website, and took a sprint to the elevator, punching the 'up' button through two hard pants for air. He noticed the left elevator was on floor 7 and the right one was cruising down from three. The left one starting moving.

While the elevator's descending to our subject's feet, allow me to explain a little more about this boy. A fit one, had straight A's without an attempt at studying, also a bitter dislike of his parents, for they were always trying to control him, yet - he always concluded - they still don't know 30% of what's going on in that magnificent left-handed brain of his, this course of events being a good example.

The elevator doors opened, beckoning him in. He walked in, hesitated for a moment, with his finger on a shiny new-looking 7, and pushed it, judging it had definitely been pressed a while ago. The doors closed, the lift ascended, passing 6 onto a slowing 7 - Opening to reveal the dark gloomy floor 7 atmosphere.

------------------

It's exactly 16 minutes to midnight on this night of June. Tomorrow, I'll be through my last exam, beginning another 3 months of solid freedom. Another sleepless night, and enough hate burning my tarred heart, forcing it back to my Matrix-covered notebook, back up to Floor VII.

------------------

He stepped out, viewing his surroundings. The circle shaped floor was dim-litted, unflooded by the newly installed spotlights on the floors below. Unlike the other floors, which had shelves almost randomly sticking out of everywhere, the 7th floor shelves were neatly symmetrical, wheeling around the 150 foot drop to the counters.

He started exploring, deciding to circle the floor first. He moved clockwise, passing shelves full of books which appeared to have at least 100 years and 10 pounds on them. He smiled at the thought of his mother here alone, or finding out that he's been here without a grown-up around.

He decided to check some of the sheves for something of use. He randomly chose a shelf a little to his left - there was no apparent order on how the stuff here was sorted. He checked a few books that looked older than the rest. Night Creatures, on read, The title of another was written in a language that resembled a blend of Hebrew and Greek, and had pictures of bizzare-looking plants in it. Damn this, he whispered, pausing his search. He got up and started to continue in the row below. He had just about reached the end of the bookshelf when a black book - which looked like its been stolen from a museum or art gallery - caught his eye. The spine was blank, so was the book cover, he noticed as he pulled it out. It was also much lighter that its peers. He opened the book. Blank. Flipped the page. Blank again. He flipped a good few. More Emptiness. Again, nothing. In fact the entire book looked empty, except for the first page which read: "The book of Answers". Interesting, he thought, I might need this!.

Suddenly a female voice said: "You can't take these books downstairs". He froze, thinking "Holy Shit! These walls speak?!". He was a little disappointed to see a figure approaching from the end of the shelf. The dim lighting didn't reveal her face. As she got closer though, she came into better perspective; Another Librarian, not as old as the others, pretty young, actually, He said to himself, calculating her age from the birthdate written on the card pinned to her shirt.

"I see you've found The Book of Answers" she said after a long pause. He was pretty surprised to see a librarian here - most didn't go above floor 5 and he was just about certain that none came up here - let alone have one acting this calm to see a young boy roaming here. His surprise faded when he remembered she would disappear for an hour or two, while the rest of the staff would always be in sight - he had just about memorized all their names - except for lunch hours when most disappeared for 45 minutes at most. "So this is where you disappear to" He said, smiling. "This book's empty". Smiling, she took a pen out. Then she said: "You're left-handed".

"That wasn't a question, was it?" He replied. "No. Here" she handed the pen to him, taking another out for herself. "I was expecting to find you up here eventually".

"This book was made to answer the questions left-handers might have. A righty wouldn't see anything when he or she does this" she said, writing "What's my hair/eye color?" on an empty page she apparently randomly opened seconds ago.

He stared in amazement as the ink shifted on the paper, finally forming what to be "Mirrored Text" she said, reading his mind for the second time this morning. "Leonardo Da Vinci wrote like this." She took a small mirror out of her pocket and handed it to him. Using the mirror, he read out loud: "Respectively, brown and dark brown. You forgot to say hello again, by the way" He looked up. "Still looks jet black to me!" He exclaimed, trying to hold back his awe.

She stared at him for a moment, then said: "try something else..." eagerly. He paused for a moment, ball-point frozen on the next page. "What time is it?" He wrote, and vocalized.

The ink shifted. The mirror read: "Time for your mom to start worrying.". He looked up, frantically searching for a clock - his watch had stopped the moment he stepped out from the elevator.

"No clocks here," she said, getting up. "Time to go; put that book back in there. I know they're not sorted just stick it somewhere. Let's go!". Before closing the book, he quickly wrote: "Who is she? Can she read my mind?" The book, feeling his urge to leave, replied, this time in normal print... "She's a good friend, keep her close; Remember that. And no, but I can. Always bring a mirror, this won't happen again."

He knew the book meant normal print, so he put it back in the shelf, and dashed to the elevator. She had already pressed the down button.

They waited.

"You'll need an excuse." She said. "And you've got one." He finished. "Why are you up here all the time?"

"How do you know I didn't follow you up here and how can you be so sure I'm always up here?" She said, looking down at him. Not getting a reply, she continued: "I like it here. It has a lot of useful stuff. That Book of Answers being one. Why are you here?" she said as they stepped into the elevator. "I really don't know" He answered, pressing "LVL 5".

She smiled, looking straight ahead."I'll be back later. Check back sometime. Right now, let's go handle your angry mom"

-------------------

Hey if you find any grammar or spelling mistakes in the text, post a comment please. Oh, and once you've read through this, post a comment so that I'd know you've read it. Thanks bunches....

SJ.

Tokio Hotel in 1st place, Currently

2007-07-03T12:40:00.000+03:30

Hi. If you're a fan of muzique, or if you hate Evanescence in general, please join me, us, in voting for the best band of the world. Here's the link:

http://www.jabramusic.com/

Please! vote for any band you want, but DON"T VOTE EVANESCENCE! Bands I voted for: 30 Seconds to Mars, HIM, Keane, Linkin Park, Green Day, Muse, Coldplay, System of a Down, Tool (Last 2 Favourites).

Bands disgracing the world (aka Bands I think aren't worthy of hitting the list): Westlife, Backstreet Boys, Evanescence, Good Charlotte, The Offspring... so on.

Yes, I like evanescence to some extent, but pushing it to #9 is plain bs. What's Evanescence to the likes of HIM or Muse? Or mfing SOAD or Tool in 71st and 78th place?

I'll try to put some pix of the bands I voted for later on... check back soon.

AND DON'T VOTE EVANESCENCE!! PLEASE!

SJ

Your Soul is Broken? Wot Thy Hell is a Soul?

2007-06-29T19:23:00.000+03:30

You are living through a lot of pain everyday
that you have to deal with, which is making you
sorrowful. No one ever stays by your side when
you truly need them and no one ever will.
Everything is hopeless and tragic and you keep
yearning for the day you will be free from
pain. Love is unlikely to happen to you because
you isolate yourself and are suspicious of
peoples motives. You stand in the shadows of
the world, watching what you can never have.
The bruises you carry never seems to heal, your
mind is dark and no one seems to understand or
wants to help. As always, you will be alone in
the world, fighting your dark thoughts by
yourself.

Demonized

2007-06-12T18:53:00.000+03:30

Here's a story, Lyrics for a song by Gorillazzzzz (FYI, it only has one z).

The band, for some reason, disbanded (hah) some time ago. I don't give a damn. I present you, with a "Monkey" head blowing to bits...

------

Fire Coming Out of A Monkey's Head

Once upon a time at the foot of a great mountain, there was a town where the people known as Happyfolk lived, their very existence a mystery to the rest of the world, obscured as it was by great clouds. Here they played out their peaceful lives, innocent of the litany of excess and violence that was growing in the world below. To live in harmony with the spirit of the mountain called Monkey was enough. Then one day Strangefolk arrived in the town. They came in camouflage, hidden behind dark glasses, but no one noticed them: they only saw shadows. You see, without the Truth of the Eyes, the Happyfolk were blind.

Falling out of aeroplanes and hiding out in holes
Waiting for the sunset to come, people going home
Jump back from behind them and shoot them in the head
Now everybody dancing the dance of the dead,
the dance of the dead,
the dance of the dead

In time, Strangefolk found their way into the high reaches of the mountain, and it was there that they found the caves of unimaginable Sincerity and Beauty. By chance, they stumbled upon the Place Where All Good Souls Come to Rest. The Strangefolk, they coveted the jewels in these caves above all things, and soon they began to mine the mountain, its rich seam fueling the chaos of their own world. Meanwhile, down in the town, the Happyfolk slept restlessly, their dreams invaded by shadowy figures digging away at their souls. Every day, people would wake and stare at the mountain. Why was it bringing darkness into their lives? And as the Strangefolk mined deeper and deeper into the mountain, holes began to appear, bringing with them a cold and bitter wind that chilled the very soul of them up. For the first time, the Happyfolk felt fearful for they knew that soon the Monkey would soon stir from its deep sleep. And then came a sound. Distant first, it grew into castrophany so immense it could be heard far away in space. There were no screams. There was no time. The mountain called Monkey had spoken. There was only fire. And then, nothing.

O little town in U.S.A, your time has come to see
There's nothing you believe you want
But where were you when it all came down on me?
Did you call me now?

Butterflies and Hurricanes

2007-05-28T13:42:00.001+03:30

It has been said something as small as the flutter of a butterfly's wing can ultimately cause a typhoon halfway around the world. - Chaos Theory

Insomnia

2007-05-23T11:59:00.000+03:30

A poem worth reading...

---

Coldplay - The Scientist.

Come up to meet ya, tell you I'm sorry
You don't know how lovely you are
I had to find you, tell you I need ya
And tell you I set you apart
Tell me your secrets, and nurse me your questions
Oh let's go back to the start
Running in circles, coming in tails
Heads on a science apart

Nobody said it was easy
It's such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be this hard

Oh take me back to the start

I was just guessing at numbers and figures
Pulling the puzzles apart.
Questions of science, science and progress
Don't speak as loud as my heart.
Tell me you love me, and come back and haunt me,
Oh, when I rush to the start
Running in circles, chasing tails
coming back as we are.

Nobody said it was easy
It's such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy.
No one ever said it would be so hard

I'm going back to the start.

---

Sometimes it reminds me of me.

SJ

Tragedies are TV Commercials

2007-05-21T18:56:00.000+03:30

Myspace profile: 10$
Orkut profile: 6$
Gazzag profile: 8$

Finding your best friend after 6 years and having her ignore you...

Priceless.

- There are some thingz that money can buy, for everything else...

There's Suicide.

SJ

Bloody Black and Typical Tragedy

2007-04-14T14:45:00.000+03:30

-------

Since her mom was safeguarding the computer and the Library was closed on this paticular day, she was lying on her bed, staring at the two Paintings she bought yesterday. Fisherman looks fine above the bed, she thought, and the Feathers would have to wait until I feel like putting them up.
Finally, after what seemed like decades, she got up, stretched, and out of pure boredom, decided to go buy something squishy to read. newspapers, she thought, could keep me busy for at least 30 minutes, or at least until mom's out.
"Daddy, can I go out? I'm bored stiff, Gonna get something newspaperish." she said brightly, as she closed her bedroom door behind her and sat down beside her dad.
"OK, but I don't want you catching a cold, too" He said with a sneeze. She smiled, rushed back to her room, and strolled out moments later, Kissing her dad on the cheek as she walked towards the apartment door. She was just sticking her left trainer in as her mom started her usual interrogation: "Where u going? When'll u be back? Got money with you?" she said as she approached to close the door, blocking her path to the hallway.
"Outside, dad said it's OK." she said coldly, glaring at her mother. She glared back, but let her pass through, closing the door behind her. She deeply hated her mother, but loved her father just as much - not even comparable, she thought, pushing the elevator button.
She heard shouts from below; from the floor below. And just as she was about to take the stairs down to have a look at the source of the yelling, the elevator beeped on 13, beckoning her in.
While the elevator was descending, she couldn't help thinking about the yells and screams from level 12. Domestic, she concluded, forget it.
The elevator flung open, revealing her to the half full lobby. She crossed it, and pushed the front door open, and walked out into the English morning. It was another snow filled day; with absolutely no wind, she noted. Pausing for a moment to let the cold fill her, she turned right and headed for the newspaper stand - which was about 2 or 3 blocks away - while pulling her mp3 player out of her jacket's pocket. Open on holidays, she thought as she turned the player on, Great guy.
The street was almost empty, with a couple of cars waiting at a stoplight a little ahead and a van parked in front of their home. She still couldn't get used to the fact that her in London (fucked up Englishmen) cars drive on left side of the street. Not the right. Ever since they've moved here from Seattle, life's been a European Hell for her. She had kicked some bitch who had been teasing her at school, which had got her 2 detentions and almost 1 week of no allowance.
She walked on in silence, listening to the metal and rock pumping through her headphones, until she was at the stand. She picked up a sports mag and the days' paper, and after scavenging her pockets for change, she instantly flipped the newspaper to page 7 "sports". If there had been one advantage to her hateful currently-londonese life, it was the soccer fever England had. She finally had juiced a minor league soccer team and had a bunch of friends to rant with on last night's game, or whether this player was going to be transferred to that club or if this team would get relegated or not.
Satisfied with the results of the game her mom hadn't let watch last evening, she started going through the fixtures for tomorrow, when she spotted a black cat staring at her blankly. She decided to stare back; the fixtures would have to wait. The staring contest went on for about 5 minutes, until suddenly the cat sprang left and sprinted into the street, hoping to reach the other side without any fatal injuries. He was almost there when he (or was it a she? hmm... don't remember) got hit head-on by a dairy truck speeding home. The driver crashed to a stop, got out, took one look at the splattered "poor kitty" 30 feet in front of the unharmed bumper; then got into his truck and drove out of sight without looking back.
"I'm getting better at this" she said to herself, visualizing the branch that had almost crushed a squirrel while she was staring at it (the squirrel wasn't hurt too bad; tail got ripped off).
She foldd the paper and headed home, mouthing the lyrics of the song her headphones were working on. She had a taste for rock music, metal sometimes, especially tracks with keyboard pieces in them. The keyboard in her room didn't work anymore; half it's keys were stuck still. I need a guitar too, she thought as she crossed the street, almost getting hit by a car that was driving on the wrong side of the road. "Right side" she mumbled, "I'll never get used to this. ever". 3 minutes later she was home.
As always she waited decades for the elevator to reach the lobby, reading an article on a 55-million "pound" (hated that word) midfielder. She didn't look up when the elevator opened up; just rushed in and pressed the worn out button that was supposed to be "13". She just about was halfway through the article when the elevator's velocity slowed to a blank 13. She quickly hid the mag in the newspaper just as the elevator door opened.
Suddenly the lift doors froze. Their apartment door was wide open and she could see a woman's body 10 feet from it. She didn't notice that the doorknob looked different, or that their shoe cabinet was now black. All she saw was a blood-and-body coated hallway, which she floated through, not taking in any of the Scotland Yard around her.
"It's OK, I can live without a mother" she thought, emotionlessly. Their large kitchen window was shattered; more blood could be seen creeping out from under the door to her brother's room. "He's dead too. OK, so what?" She thought again. Again, overcome by shock, she didn't notice that their microwave was missing, or that the dishes weren't white anymore; her mother's dishes were always sparkling clean. And white.
She closed in on the window, Light and Cold shattering through her. She was staring down at her dad's body covering the alley's asphalt. Suddenly everything stopped. The police just stared at her, freezing, not knowing what to do.
It's all over, she thought as she closed her eyes, letting the breeze tilt her body forward. "It won't hurt" she said out loud, to no one in paticular. She felt the light warming her; but she wasn't falling; something was holding her back. She opened her eyes. One of the cops had managed to rush forward and catch her before all was lost.
She fell to the kitchen floor as the man pulled her away from the window. Tears started forming in her eyes. All then life rushed back to her;
She had gotten off on the wrong floor.
There was no 13th floor.
She was 15. Her name was Green.

-------

People this post's up for editing so if you wanna help out just post comments with the text replacements.

Another Joke

2007-03-21T06:47:00.001+03:30

One day Bill complained to his friend that his elbow really hurt. His friend suggested that he go to a computer at the drug store that can diagnose anything quicker and cheaper than a doctor.

''Simply put in a sample of your urine and the computer will diagnose your problem and tell you what you can do about it. It only costs $10." Bill figured he had nothing to lose, so he filled a jar with a urine sample and went to the drug store. Finding the computer, he poured in the sample and deposited the $10. The computer started making some noise and various lights started flashing. After a brief pause out popped a small slip of paper on which was printed: "You have tennis elbow. Soak your arm in warm water. Avoid heavy lifting. It will be better in two weeks."

Later that evening while thinking how amazing this new technology was and how it would change medical science forever, he began to wonder if this machine could be fooled. He mixed together some tap water, a stool sample from his dog and urine samples from his wife and daughter. To top it off, he masturbated into the concoction. He went back to the drug store, located the machine, poured in the sample and deposited the $10. The computer again made the usual noise and printed out the following message:

"Your tap water is too hard. Get a water softener. Your dog has worms. Get him vitamins. Your daughter is using cocaine. Put her in a rehabilitation clinic. Your wife is pregnant with twin girls. They aren't yours. Get a lawyer. And if you don't stop jerking off, your tennis elbow will never get better."

Love, Hate, And Pistachio Coffee.

2006-12-30T12:38:00.000+03:30

----------

For some crazy, wierd and stupid yet simple reason, my wife has left my house for like 3 months. What's gonna happen to me now? Is my life gonna be literally ruined? Why hasn't she answered that letter I spent endless nights on? Why is she hiding from me? Why...?

Who da hell's gonna hear my voice when i yell out: "I love you!"? A few days ago I lost my concience over a glass of... something and I went straight to her dad's house and screamed as hard as my lungs could handle: (mr/mrs typist, Please put this in BOLD!) "I love you! I can't live without you! Don't leave me in this cold world alone! "

When I came to myself again, Everyone (meaning whoever and whatever was walking by in the street or those who had come to see what the f$8# was going on) suddenly froze and stared at me as if I was mutating or something.

It's just not fair! How much longer am I gonna stay like this? I've gotta do something... Why isn't she answering me? What's going on in there? Odd, isn't it? But... what if... Maybe a homicide, kidnapping! gosh, I can't believe it, it's not possible; I'm starting to worry too much. These bizzare thoughts mess me up! Jesus, I am so messed up.

Isn't there somebody, anybody who can tell me what's going on here? For all I know, in these type of situations, someone walks in and explains everything. Mr. Writer, how much longer are you gonna keep quiet? Don't u wanna help?

So The Writer responds: "Chill; Stuff like this happen in every american family. In fact, that's what makes life worth living. If it wasn't for these painful knots, life would be too plain to stand. Like murky water. Anyway, the story's gotta have a few catches. Without a tragedy, death, etc., it just wouldn't sell!"

-Me: "But that ain't fair, man. You ruined my life to sell your story and make money..."

-The Writer: "Hey, why are you saying all this? You should at least Try to understand what I'm saying; we're supposed to cooperate!"

-Me: "Damn this cooperation! You're messing around with the love life of two innocent humans here. Cooperate? Well if there's one thing I understand, somebody here has ruined my life; and I sure know who that somebody is..."

-The Writer: "Well, it should be! that's just great! Means more green for me. With the homes that people build right now, everyone's life turns to ruins when Earth sneezes."

-"huh?"

-"Well, it's got allergies."

-"But- oh, come on! What kinda person are you?! Stop doing these things to us! No storyteller's ever gotten anywhere with writing these things before. Hey, what goes up, must, and will, come down on ya!"

-Silence.

Can someone push this Writer to change the story? I sure didn't get anywhere with him. You know, if you do that for me all my problems would get solved. So, pick up a pencil and end this story! I promise I'll send you an "Interesting" reward!

Pure literagraphy, people.

P.S.: The "Interesting Reward: A lifetime subscription to this Writer's publishingzz: bookzz, storiezz, poemzz, and the whole 9.5 yardzz.

If anyone wants to publish this anywhere, or use it for anything, please put my blog's address at the end.

---------

A Reason Why Humanity Should Be Buried Under Emberz And Stones

2006-12-12T14:00:00.000+03:30

""Once Upon a Time, on a planet called Earth, where the people known as happy folk lived, a girl, a six year old girl, was on a vacation with her parents; both of them. they were somewhere by the name of scotland. They say it was ruled by a British Empire or something. It wasn't such a vast empire, ruling no more than 1 island on the face of the Earth. Come to think of it, it was just like the big island we now know as the GB. But this story ain't about GB. It's about a bottle and two girls.

The girl was venturing through the open coast, with her bottle in her hand. She was drinking something from it. Probably soda or the like. I'd tell you the name, but there on Earth, they have rules. They make them with marks like (R) or (TM) or with a thing called "Democrasy".

Let's get back to the bottle. In case you're wondering, it was plastic. Yeah, they have oil on Earth. And so on she jogged along the coast, putting more and more distance between her and her mom and dad; she wasn't gonna run away, for some reason, she just needed some quiet time. some time to be alone.

Suddenly it came to her that her bottle was empty, and, as she stared into her bottle, looking for a coupon or somethin, she spotted something shiny beyond it. No, it wasn't metallic, it didn't have wires sticking out of it, or any sorta blinking light. It was a simple white piece of paper. you might wonder what a piece of paper is doin in the middle of nowhere. dunno.

Luckily, she had tucked a crayon in her pocket that morning. So she had an idea! she picked up the paper, wrote something nice on it, and started thinking. She wanted someone to find it somehow, but not someone from The British Empire. someone foreign... She was about to put a (TM) on it, u know, the mark i described earlier, but then she ruled out the fact that someone might use this against her. she carefully folded the paper, and stuck it in her bottle. Once the lid was back on, she ran off somewhere to hide from humanity-in her case, her mom and dad. It must have been a bush, or a tree, or something to hide in or under.

Anyway, she started talking to herself, and asked the big sea spirit to take this bottle and send it to the Scandanavian Coast. You see, their planet was a lot like ours. Then she picked up the bottle, took a deep breath, and - after kissing it goodbye- threw it into the sea...

Once it had disappeared from sight, she ran back to join her mom and dad.... all happened in less than 10 minutes, but it took me more than 1 hour to write. Love to Einstein and all his theories.

The bottle. It travelled for sometime, but after 6 weeks and 5 days, And 20000 miles of cold ocean currents, it finally spotted land on the horizon. It wasn't Scandanavia; hell, it wasn't even the french coast. Normandy... It was a Kingdom by the name of..... ""

This was a true story. it had happened a few weeks ago. guess who picked up the bottle?

A six year old girl, and on the coast of New Zealand. For those of you who don't know where new zealand is, it's somewhere south-east of australia. australia's a big island in the southern hemisphere. of Earth.

You sometimes start wonderin, these things don't just happen, somebody, something makes these kinda things happen. this isn't a preacher's short-story. It's just something worth thinkin out....

Don't Wanna be an American IDIOT

2006-11-21T13:41:00.000+03:30

Here is a funny joke about a Indian boy on his first day at school in the USA.
It was the first day of school and a new student named Chandrashekhar Subrahmanyam entered the fourth grade.

The teacher said, "Let's begin by reviewing some American History

Who said "Give me Liberty, or give me Death"?

She saw a sea of blank faces, except for Chandrashekhar, who had his hand up: "Patrick Henry, 1775" he said.

"Very good!" Who said "Government of the People, by the People, for the People, shall not perish from the Earth?"
Again, no response except from Chandrashekhar. "Abraham Lincoln, 1863" said Chandrashekhar.

The teacher snapped at the class, "Class, you should be ashamed.Chandrashekhar, who is new to our country, knows more! about its history than you do." She heard a loud whisper: "F**k the Indians," "Who said that?" she demanded. Chandrashekhar put his hand up. "General Custer, 1862."

At that point, a student in the back said, "I'm gonna puke."
The teacher glares around and asks "All right! Now, who said that?"
Again, Chandrashekhar says, "George Bush to the Japanese Prime Minister, 1991."

Now furious, another student yells, "Oh yeah? S*ck this!"
Chandrashekhar jumps out of his chair waving his hand and shouts to the teacher, "Bill Clinton, to Monica Lewinsky, 1997!"

Now with almost a mob hysteria someone said "You little shit. If you say anything else, I'll kill you."
Chandrashekhar frantically yells at the top of his voice, "Gary Condit to Chandra Levy, 2001."

The teacher fainted. And as the class gathered around the teacher on the floor, someone said, "Oh shit, we\'re f**ked!"
And Chandrashekhar said quietly, "George Bush, Iraq, 2005."

love to all american idiotzz.

bye.